Blurring the lines
by AllyinthekeyofX
Summary: 'And even though I had smiled and agreed with him that the world hadn't ended, I now find myself wishing it had.' Scully needs more than she suspects Mulder is willing to give. Post-ep Millennium.
1. Chapter 1

BLURRING THE LINES

BY

AllyinthekeyofX

Summery –'I'd agreed with him that the world hadn't ended. So why do I now wish it had?'

Scully needs more than she thinks Mulder is prepared to give.

PROLOGUE

I am angry at him. Not the usual anger I feel when he's ditched me or when he gives me one of those sardonic smiles of his when he is listening to my opinion but not really giving my words the credence I think they deserve or even anger that he has, for whatever reason known only to him, pressed his internal self-destruct button once again. Because after almost seven years together as partners I can justify to myself the anger I occasionally direct toward him when he manages to disregard that partnership and go his own way as though I weren't here. I can justify it, compartmentalise it, analyse it, move on. It's a skill born from years of practise and truthfully, the man is virtually impossible to stay annoyed with for long; one smile, one upturn of that beautiful mouth, one glance at me from beneath impossibly long lashes that frame eyes that I lost myself in years ago and I am able to shrug off his latest thoughtless indiscretion and _move on._

But this time I just can't seem to let go of the feelings that bubble dangerously beneath the surface of my carefully constructed and meticulously maintained facade, a lingering sense of annoyance that keeps me from returning his smile, reacting to his playful banter as he tries to reach me from whichever place I've hidden myself in this time. As though he has a right; that he has now claimed a part of me for himself that I have given unwillingly and without thought as to what the consequences might be over this game he seems intent on playing out to the bitter end.

Because whichever way I look at it, to him at least, I am sure it's just a game. A progression in our partnership that keeps me tied to him and within his control, dangling the proverbial carrot in front of me and watching as I follow dutifully along just as I have always followed him. And even though I occasionally assert my own independence, try to persuade myself that I am still a person in my own right rather than one half of a human jigsaw, I know I am kidding myself - because I belong to _him_. He knows it, I know it; hell, I think half the Bureau knows it and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. So he carries on playing his game and I carry on waiting for him to throw me the next crumb from his table.

Sometimes it makes me hate him. Makes me want to wound him in the way he has been wounding me for years – those gentle touches, lingering glances, teasing smiles that speak to so much more than we have ever allowed ourselves to feel. Actions precipitated by a deep and abiding loyalty to each other that transcends professional boundaries and sometimes leaves me feeling more confused about my feelings towards this man than I ever have about anything in my life.

But it's okay – because the lines have never been crossed before.

There is no doubt in my mind that he loves me. No more than I doubt my own love for him. He is my imperfect other, my protector, the force that grounds me and keeps me from falling in to the darkness that, after all we have seen and experienced, sometimes steals silently upon me and threatens to overwhelm all that I have fought so hard to maintain. He knows me just as I know him. He can turn those fathomless eyes on mine and look deep in to my soul, seeing my hurt, my joy, my confusion, my pain and somehow, someway, he has always managed to make things right. Like a soft blanket that chases away the chill of a dark winter night, Mulder can warm me right to the very depths of my being with a single touch.

So why now, do I feel so cold?

The memory of his lips on mine, so soft, so gentle, feeling his breath tickling my face as he slowly withdrew, his eyes locked on mine, asking me a question I didn't know how to answer, seeking affirmation that this was right; that I wanted it too.

And God knows I thought I did. Because as much as I have tried to deny it to myself, he has been the singular object of my desires for a very long time, he has invaded my dreams with his presence; a manifestation of all I want him to be to me but am too afraid to act upon other than in my subconscious as I awake, gasping out his name as the dampness spreads between my legs, my muscles tense, overwhelming my senses, throbbing to stillness as I try to breathe. And afterwards always a lingering feeling of shame; of wanting; of crushing un-fulfilment as I realise I am, as always, alone. That he isn't here with me. That the physical manifestations of my desire are simply nocturnal echoes of the man who, over time, has enveloped me so completely that I sometimes find myself questioning who I really am; who I want to be. But as hard and as frustrating and as heartbreaking it has been to hide this part of myself from him, I have managed to stick to the rules we have imposed upon ourselves that no matter what, to protect ourselves, to protect each other and to protect the work, we must never allow ourselves to become more vulnerable than we already are. He understood that – closed himself off to me long ago but seemingly unable to fully disengage from the physicality of us – but the touches and the glances and the conversations we have occasionally had with our eyes have all been okay; they have been manageable for both of us, lines sometimes blurred but never crossed.

Until he kissed me; until I _allowed_ him to kiss me - a kiss that to a casual observer would have seemed innocent, chaste even. Just two people caught up in the moment as the world celebrated the start of a new millennium, of hope and dreams to be fulfilled as time began anew with a symbolic wiping of the slate and had he kissed me on the cheek, allowed his lips to graze my skin as he so often had done in the past then it would have been okay.

Because the line wasn't crossed; the boundaries that have existed between us for long would still have been intact.

Now I know I need more from him, an affirmation of all we mean to each other that I know he isn't prepared to give me; that for all the right reasons I know he is justified in not allowing this to go further. That his reasons will enable us to survive.

And even though I had smiled and agreed with him that the world hadn't ended, I now find myself wishing it had.

Continued chapter 1

I


	2. Chapter 2

BLURRING THE LINES

BY

AllyinthekeyofX

ONE

Mulder is watching me. Even without looking up I can feel his eyes on me. Can feel the confusion that radiates from him in waves, swirling and eddying around the office space we share and even though I have removed myself to the farthest corner I can – an area that Mulder once referred to as being mine – I know that far away is currently not far enough to escape his scrutiny. Because he knows, just as he knew when I was trying desperately to hide my gradual decline from him when I was in the grip of my cancer, that this is my hiding place, partially separated from each other by a flimsy partition of wood and glass and which offers us a physical barrier, offers us space to breathe. But it didn't prevent him scrutinising me back then, searching for the slightest sign that I was struggling more than I was prepared to admit and it isn't preventing him scrutinising me now.

We are both confined to desk duty, more for Mulders benefit than mine because although he swiftly divested himself of the sling that was meant to support his injured shoulder, he is in no shape to be out in the field. The wound had been ragged; stitched together just barely at Muller's absolute refusal to entertain any suggestions of grafts and surgery and lengthy recuperation. It would heal, he had insisted, if he scarred he scarred. So he had escaped surgery by a whisker, promising to keep the sling on and his arm elevated for at least a week. His good intentions lasted a scant two days. I didn't waste my breath arguing against his decision. Over the years I have learned to keep my own counsel – to know which battles are worth fighting regarding his cavalier attitude toward his own health and wellbeing.

The days have dragged monotonously for both of us I think and while initially Mulder tried to draw me out of myself, after a while he gave up and became as silent as I have been. Because I can't bring myself to speak to him – at least not on a personal level and while I politely respond to his work-related queries, he is left with absolutely no doubt that anything else is currently off limits. So instead he just watches me, the silence that stretches between us punctuated only by the occasional rustling of paper, of the muted crack of a shell casing that he has manipulated between his teeth to release the tiny prize within. It's a sound that, over the years I have come to regard as being uniquely his and I can't count the amount of times I have awoken in the darkness of yet another anonymous motel room, heart pounding in panic from whichever monster has visited my dreams, to hear the sound of my partner cracking sunflower seeds between his teeth. How often I have felt safe and protected by the knowledge that he is just a few feet away from me; that should I call out to him he would be by my side in seconds, swiftly analysing just what I need from him whether it be by touch or by words he would find a way to affirm that I am okay.

To my intense embarrassment my eyes suddenly start to burn and I feel my throat begin to close as the words blur on the report I have been attempting to concentrate my attention on for the past hour or so and not for the first time I realise I am close to unravelling right there in front of him.

For exactly what reason I feel like this I am less sure. But as the days have passed since that moment the world celebrated I have become more and more morose, a feeling that is ridiculous in the extreme given that I am reacting this way because of a stupid unguarded moment from both of us.

A kiss. Just a kiss for Gods sake. A kiss that neither he nor I have even attempted to acknowledge; him because I suspect for him it was a sweet but insignificant moment in our lives and me because I am afraid of him telling me that is exactly what it was. And he would say all the right things to me, try to make light of his actions and totally fail to notice me dying inside right there in front of him. So instead I have said nothing and concentrated instead on just trying to get through each day with a man who seems to be content to sit and suffocate me with his unspoken concern.

And suddenly I just can't take it anymore, I can't remain in that office for even a second longer without screaming at him, without striking out at him for breaking the rules and blurring the lines and making me feel like the world has ended. Because he *is* my world and I have been content to love him from within the confines of the walls I have worked so hard to build around myself. Walls, which now threaten to come tumbling down. The pressure that has been building is just suddenly too much and I just can't do it anymore. Any of it.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Mulder become rigid in his posture as I stumble to my feet, pushing the chair back and wincing at the grating sound of metal against tile.

"Scully?"

His voice is soft, questioning; the underlying concern only barely contained beneath the surface. But I don't look at him. I can't.

Instead I grab my heavy winter coat from where it hangs still slightly damp from the morning snowfall I got caught in on my way to work, not bothering to waste time in shrugging it on before I head for the door.

"I don't feel well Mulder. I'm going home."

A part of me desperately hopes he will follow me, grasp a hold of my arm and force me to acknowledge him.

But he doesn't. A glance behind me as I exit the office sees him as though frozen in time, brow furrowed; mouth slightly agape at my sudden departure and it's only when I am sure that I am alone, when the elevator doors slide shut, do I allow the first tear to fall.

XXXXXXXXX

I finally arrive home just before 11:30 and I'm actually surprised how easy it was to find a cab on the slush covered streets that was available for hire. The weather was set to turn bad later in the day and was in part at least, the reason I had opted not to drive in to work that morning although if I'm honest I was also aware that snow covered roads coupled with my current emotionally confused state was an accident waiting to happen. My cell phone had rung insistently every five minutes or so and eventually, as it's strident tones filled the warm interior of the cab for the third time and I saw the driver huff in silent annoyance I simply removed it from my pocket and switched it off, feeling just a tiny pang of guilt as Mulders name disappeared and the screen went blank.

I was unsurprised therefore to find, when I entered my apartment, that the small red light on my answering machine was blinking accusingly at me and although my first instinct was to just ignore it while I got changed in to more comfortable attire, by the time I exited my bedroom dressed in worn blue jeans and soft cream cable knit sweater, the guilt at ignoring Mulder had begun to prickle at me in a singularly uncomfortable way. He had left four messages, which by Mulders standards was pretty tame although I could detect a subtle increase in urgency by the time the fourth one began to play; his voice pitched slightly higher, the cadence of his words a little more rapid.

*ummm Scully it's me again...I guess you aren't home yet but when you get this message...ah shit forget it. Stay where you are okay?...I'm coming over to you...*

I don't listen to the rest of the message even though I know there is more, because I suddenly feel trapped, panicked even. Because it's one thing to remain detached from him in a work environment but something altogether different when we are on our home turf; and I don't want this, I don't want this to become blown up in to something it isn't. I just need time alone to get things straight in my head; time alone away from him.

So I do the only thing that makes sense to me amid the confusion that is raging within me– I seek to escape – grabbling my warm parka with the fur-lined hood before stuffing my feet in to my winter boots I exit the apartment before I can change my mind.

XXXXXX

I'm not sure how long I have sat here, just sat here amidst the snow covered shrubs and bushes that have been softened and melded together by the snow that fell briefly but heavily this morning and while the pristine whiteness in the city has already been rendered a dirty grey slushy mess by the DC traffic, here it is virtually untouched – a sparkling white canvas which is breathtaking in its simplicity. This part of the park is slightly off the beaten track, set back from the runner's routes with a couple of benches that afford an unobstructed view of the lake that is now magically transformed in to a solid sheet of gleaming ice, weak sunshine bouncing off it in almost blinding intensity to reflect back on the untouched virginal snow that blankets the area around it's edges. And it's so peaceful here; the snow has insulated this small oasis from the sounds of traffic, of people, of life. Even the birds are silent, no doubt huddled together with fluffed feathers to capture and keep the warm air against their small bodies in the midst of a DC winter. And that thought makes me aware that I am beginning to feel cold despite the down filling in my jacket, and even though it is long enough to reach mid thigh, the cold metal of the bench beneath me isn't the ideal surface to spend any length of time on at this time of year and a chill is starting to work its way up my back. The logical part of me knows that at some point I will have to return to my apartment and with that knowledge comes a realisation that Mulder will be there, and while he probably won't presume to let himself in with his key, he will camp outside the door for as long as it takes for me to arrive back. Seven years in his company has taught me many things regarding his character and the man has the stubbornness of a mule with regards to keeping his word. And if he has decided to come check on me, I would find him still sitting there waiting for me hours later. He's done it before. Today will be no different.

But I don't know how I can even begin to confide in him the way I am feeling right now, knowing that despite my earlier anger he has no idea what he has done to garner such an extreme reaction from me.

Just a kiss Dana. It was just a kiss. Nothing more and nothing less. And maybe if I keep telling myself that I might even start to believe it.

Yeah. Right.

I swipe angrily at my nose, trying to persuade myself that the sudden urge to sniff is only about the cold and not about the tears that have once again filmed my vision, gathering unbidden and blurring the scene in front of me; and I hate this. This is not me. This is not who I am. Or at least it's not who I used to be. So I blink quickly, my vision clearing as I feel wetness once again on my face, the tears instantly growing cold in the frigid air, and concentrate instead on the lone swan that is swiping at the soft snow with its long orange beak in an attempt to find a morsel of food to satisfy its hunger.

Bread. I should have brought bread.

And suddenly I tense as a slight weight drops on to my shoulder, an unseen presence behind me whose voice is as familiar to me as my own and infinitely more precious, his hand squeezing my shoulder gently as he speaks softly.

"Did you know swans mate for life Scully? That even though they know that they will be alone if one dies, they still take a chance on each other? That the chance of happiness is worth the potential heartbreak it might bring?"

And then he is right there in front of me, pulling me gently to my feet and resting his gloved hand against my cheek, rotating his thumb to make small circles against my skin. I can smell the leather, warm and fragrant, mingling with the scent of him.

"I suspect" he drops a kiss on my forehead, breathing in to my hair "That we could learn a few things from them" before tipping my head so he can look at me properly. His expression is intense, his eyes dark green and fathomless, hard to read for most people but not for me.

"Don't you think?"

Continued chapter two


	3. Chapter 3

BLURRING THE LINES

BY

AllyinthekeyofX

THREE

"How did you know where to find me?"

Mulder shrugs lightly and grimaces as the movement pulls at his shoulder injury. I make a mental note to check it when we get back to my apartment, slightly ashamed that I haven't been able to bring myself to even think to do so before now. Past experience tells me that Mulder is just stupid enough to ignore any warning signs that the injury isn't healing as well as it should. But he quickly rearranges his features in the hope I haven't noticed and takes a step away from me, gesturing towards the lake below with his good arm.

"I know you used to come to the lake when you had Can..." he pauses and swallows and sadness abruptly overwhelms me that even after all these years he still has trouble with that word. "...when you were _sick_. So I played a hunch and after a couple of false starts...well, here you are."

"Here I am." I whisper, unable suddenly to meet his eyes because there is a part of me that is afraid of what I will see there or maybe more accurately, what he will see in _me_ and I remember another time in another place where he searched for me before while the snow packed landscape stretched ahead of him in to infinity and his singular determination to bring me back pushed him to limits no one should ever have to endure. We've never talked too much about it – some wounds are just too painful to keep re-opening – but I have always known with blinding certainty that he was prepared to give his own life in an attempt to save mine; that he accepted the odds without question as he quite literally travelled to the ends of the earth to find me and bring me back. That he wasn't ready to give up on me then; that he isn't prepared to give up on me now. And I find myself feeling so ashamed suddenly of just how I have treated him these last few days. I have directed my own confusion, my own uncertainty and my own discomfiture squarely back at him when I essentially have no right or reason; because for years I have refused to allow him even a glimpse as to what actually lies behind the walls that over time have left me more damaged, more insular than I ever thought I could be and half of the emotions I keep locked away I don't actually understand myself, so how in the hell am I supposed to expect him to?

As though to contradict me, as though he is literally reading my mind he touches my arm gently and without even looking up I can hear the smile in his words.

"Least this time you were easier to find huh?"

And he trails his fingertips downwards until his gloved hand envelops my own, instantly warming me through the thin fleece gloves I wear. I hadn't realised just how cold my hands were until that moment; or of how the lighting had subtly changed around us, bleeding what colour there was from the landscape and casting everything in a peculiar luminosity that, after years of living through winters here I knew was a warning that a storm was gathering; a bad one if the weather warnings of this morning were to be believed. In fact, I could feel the temperature had dropped at least a few degrees since I had left my apartment and neither one of us, but Mulder especially, was dressed to get caught in a serious snowstorm.

"We should get back Scully. There's a hell of a storm brewing."

Reading my mind again Mulder? The thought makes me smile; the first genuine smile I think I have managed for days and I nod, waiting for him to release my hand from his. But instead he tightens his fingers around mine and pulls me in closer to him, our arms practically touching and despite the biting wind that has sprung up from nowhere, I don't think I have ever felt warmer than I do right now.

XXXXXXX

By the time we reach the haven of my apartment, the sky above has darkened to an ominous shade of purple and wind is howling around the building. Unsurprisingly, we hardly saw a soul on our return and the few we did see were hurrying along, heads bowed against the biting wind with hands thrust in to coat pockets, intent on getting home in to the warm as quickly as they could and for me at least, the blast of warm air that hits me as we step over the threshold in to my apartment instantly banishes the chill that was starting to creep upon me. Mulder though is shivering like a rain soaked puppy and despite trying valiantly to hide the fact that he is freezing, the hollow sound of his teeth clacking together kind of gives him away. I'm not surprised he's cold. His suit pants are soaked to the knees from the ankle deep snow and I'm in no doubt that his feet have benefitted from only scant protection afforded by the dress shoes he wore to work today. Hardly the correct attire to come searching for your errant partner through five inches of fresh snow; under normal circumstances I would be frustrated with him – angry even - but my fingers are still tingling pleasantly and frankly, I just don't have the heart. My tone though, leaves no room for argument.

"Hot bath Mulder. Right now." I gesture toward the bathroom "There's fresh towels in there. I'll fetch you some clothes."

The fact he immediately acquiesces speaks volumes but I know he won't be able to resist at least an attempt at a Mulder quip.

"Feel free to join me Scully. Plenty of room for two."

And despite what happened between us, the kiss we finally shared, I know that this time he is just teasing me because he feels that a glib comment is expected of him and which does more to dispel the niggling fear that has been my constant for days than I think anything else could. Because this is normal, this is him and this is us.

"In your dreams Mulder...and Mulder? Don't get those stitches wet or I'll kick your ass."

"Promises, promises Scully"

I shake my head, knowing that he has to have the final word. The final word that has set a pattern during our long partnership and one which I usually concede because if I didn't he would carry on with the verbal sparring all day long.

I've always known that he has a reputation for arrogance and it's all too easy to see why but those who know him well – and I can count on one hand just who he has allowed that singular privilege – know that much of that perceived arrogance is simply Mulders way of protecting himself. Of projecting an unshakable self-belief that cushions him from the deluge of incredulous ridicule he has suffered over the years. Because despite the facade he tries to hide behind, I know it's all pretence; because while he has become skilled at outwardly ignoring the constant jibes, immune to them he certainly isn't and I sometimes find myself marvelling at the fact that he has managed to survive at all. And while it would take a thousand armies to drag it out of me, it's the reason I could never leave him. Not now; not after everything we have shared. Because I have seen him fall too many times when he reaches breaking point; when the pressure becomes too much and his self respect is replaced with a self loathing that creeps up on him. An insidious darkness that would, if it were permitted, devour him from the inside out.

I decided a very long time ago that I could never let that happen; that whatever it took I would remain with him and even though it weighs heavily on me at times the sacrifice, if it can be described as such, is worth it to me. Because I love him; a love that transcends all boundaries and one which sometimes threatens to consume me with an intensity that scares me beyond rational thought when I consider just what my life would be without him by my side. So I tend not to dwell on it and right now I shake my head to dispel the thoughts before they overwhelm me, turning my attention to more mundane matters; switching effortlessly back to the Dana Scully that is practical and methodical and unruffled. My own way of surviving I think.

XXXXX

By the time Mulder emerges from the bathroom I have lit a fire in the small grate that is the focal point of my living room. He is wearing the t shirt and sweats that I had earlier removed from the drawer in my bedroom where they sat neatly folded alongside an almost identical set that he keeps here for situations just such as these and it hasn't escaped me recently that somehow, along the way, other items of Mulders have joined them. A pressed suit, a dress shirt and tie which hang in my closet and which, assail my senses with the scent of him each time I open the door, a pair of faded jeans hanging beside them that he left here after spending the night on my sofa and which he never saw fit to claim, a small drawstring bag containing a razor, toothbrush, shower gel and shampoo which I actually went out and purchased after he complained one day after showering here that it was a dent to his masculinity to have walk around all day stinking like a sidewalk florist display. His toothbrush is kept permanently on stand-by on my bathroom shelf, keeping my own company in the frosted tumbler that matches the soap dish. And when I really think about it, it probably seems a little odd to some that we keep such personal items to hand in each other's homes; but to us it's just how it is. The years have made us both comfortable enough with each other for it to be normal. Friday night movie nights have become a weekly tradition and only rarely do we bother driving home from whichever apartment we happen to find ourselves in and I've spent many nights sleeping peacefully on Mulders soft leather sofa where he has covered me gently with the old Navajo blanket before retreating to his own bed.

I'm conscious now though that he is lounging in the doorway that leads from the hall to the living room, just watching me as he watched me in the office earlier and I know that sooner or later we are going to have to talk; to bring this thing out in to the open – this thing that for reasons I still don't understand, made me retreat from him in a way I haven't in years.

But right now, I have more pressing matters to attend to.

"Come over here Mulder and let me take a look at your arm".

The look on his face tells me instantly that I'm not going to like what I see and neither the redness around the ugly row of stitches that are holding the deep wound together nor the strangled hiss of pain he emits as I start to gently probe the wound with my fingertips particularly surprises me. Because while I couldn't say that it's raging with infection, it is certainly inflamed way more than it should be and I struggle to keep my tone neutral, knowing him well enough to know that accusation and judgement on my part will just seek to put him immediately on the defensive.

"When did you last take your antibiotics?"

He doesn't answer but at least has the decency to look contrite. Because without him having to confirm it, we both know that he hasn't bothered. And by the look of the wound, the 6 hourly anti inflammatories have also gone by the wayside.

I resist the urge to call him an idiot. Because he already knows he is and I have never been able to fathom just why he seems to put so little stock in his own well being; this man who will cross continents to keep me safe but who seemingly lacks the ability to take a pill that will keep him healthy.

I know the hospital prescribed him Naproxin due to the nature of his injury, an antibiotic often used to treat animal bites where the risk of infection is high and they had teamed it with a fairly effective painkiller which, if memory served me, was most likely Augmentin. It seemed like the logical choice under the circumstances and one which I myself would have prescribed. Unfortunately for him though, I didn't have the same luxury of choice and the best I could come up with at short notice was Amoxicillin and Vicodin. He pulled a face at the Vicodin, a drug which I know from past experience makes him drowsy and occasionally nauseous but he had the good sense not to argue, taking them both without comment and resting back on the sofa, angling his body slightly so his uninjured shoulder takes the weight of him and I half expect him to close his eyes but he doesn't. Instead he shifts position slightly and turns them on me, the colour dark and intense with the flickering flames of the fire reflecting within. And there is something in the way he looks at me that makes my heart begin to beat painfully inside my chest; respect, gratitude and an aching vulnerability that, if I really thought about it, would break me in two, a man of such complexity, of such intelligence and such compassion that he is sometimes unfathomable to me.

"You want to know why I kissed you?" his voice is soft, barely more than a whisper as he leans toward me, cupping my chin in his palm, his long fingers brushing my cheek and I can't move, can't breathe, can't find the words to answer him, so I just nod my head slightly, almost unconsciously inclining my head towards him as he moves closer, feeling his breath against my neck which makes me shiver despite the warmth he radiates.

"I kissed you because I was still with you. Because I don't want to die regretting all the things I should have said to you...because I don't ever want to die with you not knowing and because you deserve so much more."

And slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, he brings his lips to mine, teasing me, tasting me, claiming me finally as his, deepening the kiss as I slide my hands around his neck, even now carefully avoiding putting any pressure on his injury as I close my eyes, savouring this moment, knowing that I am falling, that finally I am falling and that this time, there will be no going back.

Continued Part four

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	4. Chapter 4

BLURRING THE LINES

BY

AllyinthekeyofX

FOUR

I think the first thing that really strikes me as just how gentle he is, how soft his lips are upon mine, leisurely and without hurry but at the same time leaving me in no doubt as to the intensity behind his every move, his every thought, his every action. And the feel of him is so overwhelming that my breath is harsh; ragged sounding as I struggle to remember that breathing is pretty much a necessity of life, because right now, like a thousand bad clichés he is literally stealing it from me.

His lips meet mine over and over, carefully, delicately he kisses me before pausing suddenly, taking my face in his palms, stilling me with his touch as he draws back slightly and I know that he is seeking affirmation from me that this is what I really want, that this is right; and after seven years together I finally realise that this is how it has always been for us – questioning, doubting, consumed with uncertainties that seem to plague us every second of every minute of every day. Fearful of making a mistake that might leave us vulnerable both to each other and to those who seek to destroy us. But we have lost so much, sacrificed ourselves to this quest of ours that seems never-ending – hiding from each other because it has always just seemed too dangerous to do anything else. But I'm tired of it, so tired of letting them steal everything away from us that I just don't care anymore; consequences mean nothing to me now because I know that I just can't keep running away from this man, running away from all we can finally gift to each other.

And I tug lightly at him, reassuring him without words that this is what I want; that it's all I've wanted for longer than I can remember. Moving my hands to entwine once again in his hair, running my fingers through the silky strands, revelling in the way they feel against my skin because now I can allow myself this small token. Now I don't have to be content with a brief contact, compendious touch that has always left me wanting as I reluctantly return to a safe distance lest we go too far, safe behind our respective boundaries, behind lines drawn between us so long ago. But not now; not anymore; and I maintain the pressure as I capture him against me again, feeling him gasp as I lightly run my tongue across his bottom lip, seeking permission to take this farther, rewarded when I feel his lips part as his tongue meets mine, exploring, tasting, joining us together; and there is no awkwardness, no bumping of noses or uncomfortable angles. It's as though our mouths were always meant to meet like this; a carefully choreographed dance that has always existed between us but never unveiled until now.

I don't resist when, with his good arm he starts to manoeuvre me so I am over his lap, straddling him lightly before settling myself against him, feeling the evidence of his arousal against my core and despite the layers of clothing between us, the sudden contact evokes such an intense feeling of sensuality within me as my instincts take over and my actions begin to slowly slip out of my control, feeling Mulder shudder beneath me as I start to grind my pelvis in to his, slowly at first, then faster, harder, more urgent as my head tips back, no longer caring that I am now dry humping my partner of seven years with the same wanton abandonment as a high school kid discovering sex for the first time and by the way he is matching me movement for movement, thrust for thrust, I know that he feels the same way.

"Scully..."

His breath is coming in short pants, his eyes glittering in the firelight, arousal making them seem all pupil and even more infinite than usual and his voice grounds me slightly, shifts my focus as I realise that this isn't how it should be; that we both deserve so much more than we are currently offering each other, that I need him, I need _all_ of him because God knows I've waited long enough.

"We need to slow down..." and I know he is closer to the edge than he wants himself to be, that we need time to breath, to make this count, to _mean_ something.

So I just watch as he awkwardly reaches to grasp the hem of his t shirt, positioning his injured arm in such a way that he is able to pull the shirt over his head, but despite his care, I know it is hurting him and frown as he bites his lip at the pain that briefly flares in his eyes, because as much as I want this, as much as I know he wants this, I'm not prepared to allow him to push his physical boundaries, to add extra time on to his recovery for the sake of waiting a few more days.

"You're in pain."

He grins at me, then, shaking his head as he reaches beneath the hem of my sweater to lay his palm against my midriff, the re-connection like a jolt of electricity through me as his fingers skim across my skin, only barely touching me and sending my nerve endings in to freefall.

"Not really" he assures me, the grin replaced with a smile as he regards me languidly through hooded eyes "I'm not a Freudian Scully but I've always suspected he had a point with the whole pain pleasure theory..." his fingers moving higher, his eyes locked on mine as he travels his hand upwards, tracing the curve of my waist, the line of my ribs, coming to rest in the hollow where my breast begins to curve upwards, caressing the hem of my bra briefly with his thumb before passing it lightly across the thin satin, pausing for just a second to appreciate the nipple that is straining against the material and which elicits a low guttural moan from somewhere deep inside me as he makes brief contact. "You want to test the theory Scully? In the name of science?"

"In the name of science huh?"

And I scoot myself backwards off his lap, feeling bereft suddenly as his hand falls away from me but knowing that, if he wants this, we are going to have to move from the sofa. So I reach over him to snag the soft woollen throw from the back of the couch and spread it on the floor in front of the fire, adding a couple of cushions which I know will help support his arm; allowing myself to smile finally at the expression on his face as I kneel before him and slowly peel my sweater from my body.

"Okay G-man. Lets's do some science."

Concluded in epilogue.


	5. Chapter 5 and epilogue

BLURRING THE LINES

BY

AllyinthekeyofX

Chapter Five/Epilogue

NC17

I wish I could say that, like a thousand bad romance novels, Mulder and I ripped each others clothes off with an insatiable need to finally fully own each other, that seven years of enduring friendship, of care and of protection was eclipsed by a raw animalistic need for each other.

But in actuality, what we found instead was better; a hundred times better than every fantasy I have ever allowed myself to imagine with this man and over the years I think I have probably imagined every scenario, every position, every touch that could be conceivably be played out – and yes, including the one we found ourselves in. Safe and warm, cocooned against the elements, laid naked and golden in front of a glowing log fire whilst the snow fell silently and thickly outside, watching the orange light dance over his skin, casting flickering shadows that reflected back at me from his eyes; those limitless pools of intensity that pulled me towards him without us even having to utter a word.

Because this time, there were no lightly quipped declarations, no deflections and no awkward silences where one or both of us were suddenly terrified that somehow, we had overstepped our own clearly defined boundaries and were mentally scrambling to repair our defences. Instead, what we found as we slowly and languidly explored each other, was a sense of peace; a sense of belonging so strong that every doubt I had ever had simply melted away beneath my fingertips as I trailed them lightly across his warm skin, heightening my senses and allowing me a clarity of thought I hadn't ever imagined was possible with this man.

And he is beautiful, so damned beautiful that I'm not sure I can stand it. I've seen Mulder naked before – too many times tending to too many wounds both emotional and physical mean I have had occasion to see him without clothes. But to view his body through the eyes of his partner, through the eyes of a medical professional, while I could never say I had remained completely detached, I could never have prepared myself for the emotions I felt at the moment I finally allowed myself to view him through the eyes of a lover, drinking him in hungrily with my eyes, cataloguing ever curve, every blemish, every tiny imperfection as we map each other out with our touch.

We haven't spoken since we lowered ourselves to the floor, clothes discarded as the heat of the fire warmed our skin and the heat of our desire warmed our souls, touching, tasting, discovering each other, because words aren't necessary now; there is nothing we could say that could ever add to this moment.

Not to mention that I'm not actually sure I have the ability to string together anything that would even be remotely coherent because there was a moment where Mulder silently and reverently trailed kisses along my collarbone and down the curve of my breast before finally taking my nipple in to his mouth where my senses just started to freefall and the best I can manage right now is a low guttural sound in the back of my throat in as the sensation of teeth, tongue and lips teasing that tiny nub of flesh sends a flash of electricity through my body that is almost frightening in its intensity, awakening an almost forgotten need inside of me, a craving for more, so much more than he is giving me, prompting me to move my hand from where it rests on his chest and settling it between my legs, arching my back as I brush against my swollen clitoris, and Mulder follows my movement, raising himself up so as not to lose contact with me, briefly closing his hand around my arm and gently but insistently pulling my hand away leaving me with an aching need I can barely stand.

But his eyes are soft, a tiny smile playing across his face as he drops a kiss on the inside of my wrist, sliding his tongue along my finger as he tastes the evidence of my desire before drawing the digit in to his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine as he moves his hand along the soft skin of my belly, barely touching it and leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake as I shiver involuntarily, inclining my hips slightly to meet his hand, wanting him, needing him to finally touch me, to fully ignite a fire that has sparked between us for so long.

And as if reading my mind, he splays those long fingers of his, enveloping me fully, ensuring maximum contact before he slips one inside me even as his thumb begins to move against me, circling around my clit, teasing me, varying the pressure until I feel myself start to tremble, the slow build to eventual release; a release I have craved for so long at the hands of this man, not given lightly though because if there is one thing I have learned over the years it's that Fox Mulder gives nothing lightly – he burns with an intense passion that equals his complex emotions and I would expect nothing less from him.

And all the time he watches me, gauging my reaction to his touch, somehow knowing exactly what I need, an implicit knowledge ingenerate of a thousand looks, a thousand touches and a thousand tears that we have shed over the years; a partnership born of a connection that is both intrinsically wonderful and frighteningly unfathomable. Because he knows me – in every conceivable way he knows me, just as I know him and really, it comes as no great surprise that he can play my body with all the same skill as he can play my mind, that he knows the exact moment to cease his movements, to withdraw his hand and to lay back slightly, exposing himself to me fully, inviting me cross that final line that has stretched between us for so long.

But suddenly I am afraid, afraid of what this will mean; all my old insecurities coming crashing back to the fore as I suddenly still, feeling my throat start to close and my eyes start to burn as my vision blurs with the knowledge that as much as I want this, I am terrified of the implications for both of us. We have both lost so much but even in the midst of crippling heartache we have always been able to rely on each other, always depended on our friendship to see us through and out the other side, both afraid to upset the balance of our relationship, staying always in safe territory amidst the danger that surrounds us.

But this? This is unknown territory for both of us and even though I know we have already passed the point of no return, that to stop now is unthinkable, I can't help but feel vulnerable; terrified of what might lay ahead for us both.

But then Mulder pulls me toward him, encircling me within his embrace, his strong arms crushing me against him as he buries his face in my neck, his breath coming in short puffs as we just hold each other, skin to skin, not moving, not speaking and right then I know, without him uttering a word that deep down, he is just as afraid as I am and that thought alone is enough to chase away every doubt I ever had. Because this is right; even in the midst of such apprehension I am suddenly as certain of this as I have been about anything in my life before.

So I cup his face between my palms, holding his gaze for just a heartbeat before I scoot backwards, feeling the tip of his erection pressing in to me as he bucks his hips slightly in response to the contact and before I can change my mind, before I allow the doubts to come creeping back in, I lower myself down, feeling my inner walls contract as he gradually enters me, watching him bite his lip in an effort to allow me to stay in control, to give my body time to accept him and I think right at this moment, I love him more than I ever have before, a flood of emotion so intense that nothing else exists for me but him.

The feel of him inside me is an exquisite mix of intense arousal and burning pain as I finally tilt my pelvis and sheath him fully, joining our bodies just as we joined our souls so long ago, beginning to move, slowly at first, testing each other, finding our rhythm as our bodies begin to dance a dance that is as old as Millennia and just as unfathomable, and as I feel Mulders hands drop on to my hips as though to anchor me to him, I know that there will never be another moment in my life where I will feel quite as alive as I do right now.

I feel the pressure building within me, increasing in intensity until nothing else exists but the feel of his hands on me, his lips seeking my skin as I throw my head back, exposing my throat to him, entwining my fingers in his hair as I meet his thrusts, each movement taking me closer to the brink, unable to stifle a cry as I feel him nipping at my skin, grazing his teeth against my pulse point and that one action is enough to send me toppling over the edge as my body spasms against him, the intensity of the orgasm rendering me unable to breathe, unable to move as he tightens his hold on me, groaning softly in response to my inner walls contracting around him, and with one final thrust, he topples right over with me, emptying himself in to me and pulling me down, crushing me to him as though he is afraid to let me go lest I fly away.

But I'm not going anywhere; not now and not ever.

Because he is mine and I am his and no matter what might happen in the future, there is nothing and no one who can take this moment away from us.

For a while we just remain locked together and I feel almost boneless as he holds me against him, listening to his heartbeat as I make patterns on his skin with my fingertips, revelling in the feeling of peace; of finally belonging; of coming home. I'm not surprised though when Mulder speaks softly, seeking affirmation just as he always does, tightening his hold on me before asking me a question he has asked me so many times before when he has felt concern for me.

"Are you okay?"

And I almost laugh out loud because I don't think I have ever felt as okay as I do right now; instead though I settle for raising my head and brushing my lips against his, taking his bottom lip between my teeth and holding on to it just briefly before meeting his eyes and smiling.

"We just did science Mulder. Why would I not be okay?"

EPILOGUE

Outside the snow is still falling thickly, and what was once familiar is now blanketed by soft whiteness, once sharp lines now blurred and indistinct; and I find myself quite unable to leave my position by the window, transfixed as I am by the beauty of it – this snowy landscape against the blue black sky of night. And I watch as the snowflakes swirl and dance before finally joining the infinite number already fallen; each one as individual as they are complex as they tumble through the sky until they settle softly at their journeys end; those tiny ice crystals that somehow, against all the odds, survive their fall to fill the world, however briefly, with a beauty that is – in my eyes at least- almost unequalled.

Almost.

I sense him before I hear him, lost as I was in my thoughts I hadn't noticed when he left the warmth of the fire to pad up behind me, slipping his hands under my arms before crossing them beneath my breasts and drawing me against him. His chest is bare and I can feel the heat of him through the thin layer of satin that now covers me and I let myself relax against him, breathing in the scent of recently showered Mulder, smiling as he rests his chin on the crown of my head, watching the storm with me and as I focus again on the snow that glows beneath the sodium glare of the streetlamps, I realise that beauty is not found in sharp edges and rigidly defined boundaries, that sometimes, even though we are afraid of what lies on the other side, we sometimes have to blur the lines in order to find the courage to cross them.

End

Notes – I have never written anything with a proper chunk of NC17 and it's been a great experience. I have tried to keep them in character which is something very important to me and I hope I have succeeded. I tried to write beautiful smut because to me, they are beautiful characters. I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading. If you can leave a review that would be great because although I wrote this last chapter in one sitting tonight (By the light of a log fire to feed the muse!) it has constantly been on my mind for around a week and has had many re-writes in my head ;)

Ally xx


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